A KILLING TIME: Part 3 of 3
by Dubricus
Summary: Chapters 17-end


**A KILLING TIME: _Part III_ **

by Susan Lay & Dubricus 

Chapter 17 

"No!" Nick yelled in terrified frustration. He pounded the floor with his fist. Damn! He'd had Derek back and had lost him again. He watched the ghostly chest rise and fall as his lungs struggled to drag in air. 

Derek's eyes fluttered open. "Ohhhh," he groaned at the pain in his still bound limbs. "What happened?" he asked in confusion. "Felt strange... half in one world, half... another." 

"That's what you were," Nick said with weary resignation. They were back where they started... together but separated by an unbreechable barrier of one hundred and forty-eight years... but at least Derek's neck was free. 

They both hard the door unlocked and the bolt lifted. Enraged, Nick turned to the door... "If that bastard Kitson's back for another feast... I'll kill that son-of-a-bitch," Nick told himself. "I'll go for the watch whatever Derek says... just so I can settle with that bastard. By God, I'll find that altered state... and time won't stop me," he swore. 

Instead, Tucker entered the room carrying a candle. He held it high. It cast a gentle light over Derek. "Dear Lord, what has that maniac done to you!" he cried in horror. 

Tucker hurried over to the precept. He noted his precarious condition, his laboured breathing. Quickly he bent to cut the ropes that bound his hands and feet. "None of this is my fault, Rayne. You see that, don't you? I'm not responsible." 

Derek inhaled sharply to stifle a cry as Tucker gently pulled his legs straight, then slipped an arm under his shoulders to help him sit up. He couldn't move anything... not a finger, nor a foot... no matter how hard he willed them to move. His bent arm remained bent with its heavy, swollen hand resting like a lead brick on the floor. 

"Here... I bought you some water," the former school teacher said quietly as he held the canteen to Derek's lips. 

The precept drank gratefully. "Thanks," he murmured hoarsely. Agony flooded through his body as feeling returned. His lungs dragged in deep breaths of clean air. In the dim candle light, Derek studied Tucker as much as he could. What he sensed was a decent sort of man caught up in his own nightmare, but too weak to do anything about it. He knew better than to expect any further assistance from him. 

"I'm sorry... I should have come sooner. I'd no idea what that bastard had done," Tucker explained. "I'll leave you the canteen. I have to go. I can't risk crossing that lunatic. I've got a wife and kids back in Ohio. I'm sorry, Rayne, your wagon master hasn't returned. It's dark now... so odds are he'll not make it back in time." As suddenly as he had come, Tucker and his candle had gone. 

* * * 

After a while, Derek managed to pull the quilt tightly about himself. Although he couldn't grasp it, he somehow clutched the canteen between dead fists and got it to his lips. He savored what water he didn't spill down his chest, and felt one hundred percent better than he had thirty minutes before. Finally the precept dragged himself over to lean against the wall. Rubbing his aching arms and legs, he pretended that the stone-cold stove was throwing a warm, bright heat into the icy darkness. 

"Nick...," he said at last. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to ignore you. Are you OK? In 1999... have you got the stove going?" Derek smiled at the thought of the warmth from the rusty iron relic. "It's blazing away here... at least, in my mind it is.... What happened before Tucker came in?" 

For a moment, Nick couldn't find his voice. Finally, when he did, it shook with emotion. "I thought you'd died. For a few seconds you became solid... I could touch you.... I had you back. I cut the rope around your neck. Then you faded away again." 

Derek nodded. "I must have slipped into whatever that state is. My mind triggered a return to 1999, but it didn't last long enough." 

Nick looked crestfallen. "I guess that means getting the watch won't do any good.... Derek... there must be something we can do. We can't give up. You never give up." 

"We all give up sometimes, my friend," the precept said with a sigh. "Sometimes it's the wisest thing to do, but I'm a stiff-necked bastard. It's that English-Dutch combination. I've always found it difficult to allow myself to surrender." Searching for the right words, Derek hesitated, then continued, "But the older I get, the easier giving up becomes... the more alluring it becomes... almost like the Siren's song. Sometimes, I feel like I'm getting too old and tired for the game. The price has become too high, my friend... too high." 

Dumbfounded for a moment, Nick studied Derek's hazel eyes. Was he seeing the truth of it, or was he seeing despair born of exhaustion and exposure? 

"Do you have the phone?" Derek suddenly asked. "You could get out of here... at least, one of us will live to tell the tale. It's a hellava tale." 

Nick saw the phone lying out of Derek's line of sight. "No sign of it," he lied... as if there was any chance that he'd leave his friend alone in this hellish situation. 

"I'm very tired.... I'll rest for a while." The older man's tone resonated with weariness. "So very tired," he muttered, almost to himself, as he wrapped the quilt around his aching body. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 18 **

Derek snuggled deeply into the patchwork quilt. A sweet smell seemed to permeate the fabric... it rose to meet him. His pianist's fingertips searched the worn coverlet. He sensed the love that had gone into the sewing of it... each stitch a testimony, each scrap a memory. A wistful smile crossed his lips as he recalled another quilt. 

"What is it?" asked Nick, wondering what had suddenly lightened his precept's mood... glad of whatever it was. It was a strange sensation to see a fog of translucent breath come from a nearly transparent face. 

"Nothing. Memories... that's all... from a long time ago," Derek replied. "Or maybe I should say from a long time to come," he added with an ironic chuckle. 

The two Legacy colleagues... the two friends... sat quietly in the semi-darkness. Derek sank into both the fond and the horrific reflections that the crazy quilt brought, while Nick dropped into his own nightmarish visions, which he feared would soon become reality. 

"Nick," Derek said at last, "I was thinking... it's possible that, if they hang me, I'll pass through that mental state... or whatever it was when I came through before. Perhaps, it was a near-death condition that did it?" 

"That could be, boss," Nick said after a moment. "I first noticed the change in the blankets and everything else right after I gave you CPR. Your heart had stopped.... It was the cold, but you passed through all the stages of hypothermia way too quick. We must have slipped through together when I was trying to revive you." 

Derek remained silent for several more minutes... pondering the situation. "If that happens," he finally said, "and you can't hold onto me or revive me, promise me that you will not blame yourself. This is something completely unknown. We are totally in the dark about the intensity of this phenomenon." 

"It is my fault," Nick countered with a husky voice. "I took the shortcut. In that weather, I should have known better. We should have stayed with the car... that's a rule you don't break. I'm supposed to be the expert. I was trained by the best in the world." 

"I voted to leave the car too," said Derek, "and if you want to play that 'if' game, we could play it forever. If I hadn't promised to do the lecture... if London hadn't called... if I hadn't insisted on driving... if I hadn't been so damned impatient... if I hadn't been born the way I was... with the 'Sight'. It's endless." 

The younger man shook his head. No matter what Derek said, Nick knew he would always blame himself for what had happened... just as he would always bear the blame for what had happened in that English bog two years before. The guilt he felt now as he watched Derek shivering and in pain was bad enough.... But, Jesus... if he lost him, how would he cope? 

Nick sighed, knowing he would not win this argument, but still feeling he had the right of it. "How do you feel?" he asked, changing the subject. 

"Not so bad." Derek skirted the truth. Returning sensation had brought an ever growing pain to his limbs, back, and joints. He noted Nick's none too subtle change of tack and decided to let the matter rest... at least for a while... and to let himself rest as well. 

Derek slipped sideways to lay on the floor. He momentarily closed his eyes. "I'm just so tired, Nick. I can't describe how tired.... God... I wish this was all over. Age is creeping up.... It's been on my mind a lot lately. Mortality is something I've always had to face. We of the Legacy face it constantly. But the idea of 'age' is something different. Hell... I never expected to see thirty. Everything since has been sort of a stay of execution. The older I get, the harder it gets to hang on... to keep fighting. What was it William used to say? 'It's never finished.' At some point, for each of us, if God is merciful, it is finished." 

"No!" Nick protested. "Don't talk like that! Christ!... It's not surprising you're feeling low... hypothermia does that... it makes you want to give up and just sleep.... And what does a time slip do to the mind, huh? But I won't let you give up.... I won't give up." Nick wished he could touch his friend... if only he could pass on some of his strength of purpose... a strength and purpose that Derek had given him. 

What he really wanted to do was hold him, protect him, tell him that everything would be all right, but that's not what guy's did. Certainly not what his father would have done. He wondered what the Major would say to Derek right now. 

He closed his eyes and imagined his father in the room with them. "You snivelling, little bastard, you will not give up! My men do not give up!" Nick smiled ruefully, his father may have said that to him, but he'd never have said it to Derek. Would he have comforted Derek, rather than haranguing him? 

Derek watched a gamut of emotions cross Nick's face and had seen that they, like his own, ended with a reminiscent smile. "A pleasant memory too, I hope?" he asked with a touch of irony in his voice. 

"Yeah," the younger man said bitterly. "A real pleasant memory." Suddenly, Nick realized that he had to know. "Derek? If this was my father sitting here instead of me, what would he be saying to you?" 

The precept chuckled. "He'd probably jerk a knot in my tail and yell something like 'Don't quit on me now, boy! A precept never quits.... He can't quit. Troops don't follow lily-livered, snivelling bastards.'" 

Nick smiled and wondered if he'd ever know the truth. He doubted it. 

"You know I'd never argue with my Dad." Nick allowed a grin to slip across his face for a second. "But Derek, all of us in the House... I... would follow you anywhere... to Hell, itself, if necessary." 

Derek shuddered from the cold and from the strong emotions coursing through his body. "I know what you mean, my friend. I thank you for it. Your loyalty and courage have kept me going more often than perhaps you realise. But promise me... and this one I want kept... you will not follow me to Hell. I want something better for you than that... and for the others. All of you, who have passed through my House, are my legacy... my gift to the Legacy. Remember that." 

"You knew this would happen, didn't you? That I'd pass back thru and you wouldn't," Nick accused. "Dammit! Why do you always do this? Sacrifice yourself? Jesus, Derek, who appointed you to be my Saviour?" 

Derek hesitated a moment to search for the proper words, finally he said, "I'd hoped it might work... that maybe the watch did have something to do with it. Or, perhaps, when you escaped the time slip, that time and space might heal itself." He looked fondly at the ex-SEAL. "But even if it didn't and my presence in this place was the cause... there was no need for us both to be trapped here. 

"No, Nick." He stopped the younger man before he could interrupt. "Now you'll be able to report back to the Legacy on the nature of this beast. This knowledge may save other lives. It may be the solution to a whole class of hauntings." 

"But, Derek...." Nick's words were heartfelt. "It's my job to be your backup.... I should be with you." 

"It is your job to survive," Derek corrected. "It is my job to protect my team when I can... and, when I cannot, to always use it wisely. It wouldn't be wise to waste you on a fool's errand trying to remain with me." 

He studied the young man's face intently. For the first time he noticed the angry scratches across his cheek. "Nick, how did this happen?" He tried to lift his hand to touch the wounds but lacked the strength to complete the gesture. He shook his head wearily at his own weakness. Then remembered that his touch would have passed straight through the translucent figure. 

Nick raised his own hand to the deep scratches and touched them gingerly. "I had a little run in with Fido. Everything out there seems to want to eat us. And I'll bet you've already passed your 'sell by' date." 

Derek smiled. "I'm going to be left to hang, like a pheasant... tastes better when really ripe." He looked down at the slashes that Kitson had made on his arms. Now that the numbness was wearing off they were beginning to hurt like hell. 

Nick also studied the wounds. "Do you think that bastard's a vampire? Or just a sick son-of-a-bitch?" he asked. "You need to put a dressing or something over them, if you can." 

Derek nodded. "I don't think he's a 'real' vampire... I didn't get a sense of that at all. I think he realised that drinking blood would sustain him and now he's beginning to enjoy it. I don't understand that comment about my Mex muleskinner, but I fear that poor unfortunate may have been his appetizer. I suspect I'm his first live victim." 

He pulled his silk ascot from around his neck. _"Verdomme!" _Derek hung his head in frustration. His hands could not cope with ripping the fabric. "I'm all fingers and thumbs," he sighed. "No... correction... I feel like I have no fingers and thumbs.... I think it's sort of a moot point anyway." Finally, he wrapped the scarf around his left arm, which had taken the brunt of Kitson's handiwork. 

Nick chaffed at the frustration of his situation. He was useless. There wasn't a thing he could do to help. "How much blood did he take, Derek?" he asked, trying to calculate how much strength, if any, the precept had in reserve. 

"Enough," the precept replied wearily. 

Nick glanced at his watch, then spoke hesitantly. "It's ten now, assuming our hours coincide. I think you need to rest as much as you can... build up your strength. Then you've got to try and escape. You can't just sit here waiting for death." He looked earnestly into the wraithlike figure before him. "You may be able to force an exit... up there where the chimney rises through the roof. You've got to try," he implored. 

"You always overestimate my abilities, my friend." Derek said in exhaustion. "I can't really make my hands work. I have no mobility in my limbs. I doubt a couple of hours rest will change that. The cold, the blood loss, and being tied like that for so long have, for all practical purposes, crippled me. Got to admit, too... I'm pretty damned hungry." 

Derek shivered again... this time from the cold. Nick automatically reached out to tuck the quilt round him, then withdrew his hand. "Can't seem to get used to this see but can't touch stuff, " he said, blowing warm breath onto his hands. 

"Don't let the stove go out," Derek directed, slipping back into precept mode. "No sense in us both freezing. Besides, if you can get me back... I want to be hot, Nick... as steamy as a sweat lodge. I'll never complain again about being too warm. When this is all over, maybe we could take a vacation in Egypt... a nice hot country." Derek relaxed a bit. He let his mind wander as it planned a vacation he knew he would never take... that he would never find the time to take, even if he did get out of this place. 

"You could take Ethel with you," Nick suggested. "At least one of us would have a date." 

"Lots of dates in Egypt." Both men grinned. "Gott, I am hungry! Why did I have to mention dates? I really am feeling tired, Nick," Derek sighed, "I'm feeling odd, old, and tired. I'm going to try and get some sleep." 

Nick nodded. "Yeah, lay your head down. Wrap that quilt tight round you," he instructed. Once he's asleep, I have call to make, Nick thought. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 19 **

San Francisco Legacy House... Control Room 

Alex sat at her desk. Her eyes flicked over data screens... CHP records and emergency calls over the last twenty-four hours... trying to find something... anything... to provide a clue to the location of her colleagues, her friends. 

The phone rang stridently. As Alex reached for it, a foreboding swept through her. This was it... the call she had been waiting for... the call she had been dreading. She knew it. But would it bring relief or sorrow to the San Francisco House? 

"Alex Moreau," she tensely answered. 

"Alex... it's me." Nick got no further. 

"Nick! Oh, thank God! Are you both OK? Why didn't you call? Where are you? What's happening?" 

When she paused for breath, Nick seized his opportunity. "Alex... shut up! We're not all right. We've got a major problem." Nick paused... how to explain this to his colleague when he wasn't sure he understood it himself? "We're in an old abandoned mining town called 'Ghost Gulch'... in the foothills. Check my dad's records... he used the place for a training camp. The CHP shuffled us off Forty-nine on a detour because of a bridge washout. I tried to take a shortcut over Tagualames Canyon, then over the ridge, but the storm caught us and we had to take shelter here." 

He hesitated. "Hope you're sitting... because I'm here in 1999 and Derek's here in 1850! I can see and hear him, but my hand goes right through him. He's like a ghost of the past. He can see and hear me, but to him I'm a ghost too... but of the future." He heard a sharp intake of breath, but raced on without pause. 

"I know that sounds screwy, but it gets worse. The miners are here and they think Derek is his own ancestor, Evan Rayne. They're going to hang him in the morning 'cause some supplies they ordered from Evan haven't been delivered. They're all nuts... they're starving, but they won't leave their claim." He paused, trying to recollect what Derek had told him. What could he ask Alex to investigate that could help them out of this nightmare? 

"Nick I...," she began, but he interrupted. 

"Sorry... Alex... hear me out.... Questions later.... Derek says he's stuck in something called a time slip and that the Legacy has investigated the phenomenon. He was a test subject because of his "Sight". See what you can find out about those experiments.... You might have to talk to someone in London House. Tell them Derek's life depends on getting some answers... fast." Nick ticked that question mentally off his list. 

"Next... find out about the mine, the miners, and Evan Rayne's connection with the place. Maybe you could find his journals, but if not... old newspapers, records, anything... that's your thing, you'll know where to go." Nick paused again. "OK, questions?" 

"Is Derek OK?" Alex asked hesitantly. There was only one question to which she wanted the answer, but she already knew in her heart what that answer was. 

"It's a mess, honey. He's hypothermic, weak, and some bastard miner is putting him through hell... and there's nothing I can do to stop him." Nick wondered how much more to tell his friend. He lowered his voice, in case Derek was playing possum. "I'm scared, Alex. This whole thing... it's weird... and Derek's acting strange. It's almost like he doesn't want... or... well, doesn't expect... to get out of this. It's like he's too tired to go on. I'm afraid he's given up. Christ... what hope do any of us have if Derek Rayne gives up?" 

"Nick... you will take care of him?" she asked in a small, frightened voice. "Don't let him quit. You be as stiff-necked as he is! Be Sloan or your father... give him hell, if you have to." 

"I'm not about to give up, but find out what you can... ASAP. We're almost out of time, whichever century we're in!" 

"I'll get a rescue party choppered in as soon as I get a fix on your position." Alex replied eagerly. "What happened to the GPS?" 

"Guess! Derek disconnected it. Negative on the chopper... the canyon is deep and pretty narrow... trees... and got to be bad down drafts. Besides, I don't know what a chopper or more people might do to the situation. What if newcomers throw a monkey wrench into the time slip? The area itself could be dangerous.... What if Derek's wrong and it's not him... but some anomaly about the canyon itself? 

"We've got to do something!" Alex protested, "I've got to do something!" 

"Get me the info... then have a team standby... but don't let them come in until I call...." Nick, paused "...and," he emphasised, "with your 'Sight,' don't you come within ten miles of the place." He knew in his heart that it was a forlorn request. Nothing would stand in Alex's way. 

As he broke the connection, he heard a snorted "Ha!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 20 **

_Ghost Gulch..._

Sitting beside the iron stove, Nick enjoyed the warmth it was throwing into the small room. He wished there were some way that he could pass that warmth through to Derek. He watched his friend, sleeping restlessly, cocooned in the quilt. He seemed to be breathing easier... thank God. Let him rest... let him gather his strength. "I'll work on him later... he's got to escape," he whispered to himself. 

His cell phone rang. The volume was turned down so low that he felt its vibration more than he heard it. Nevertheless, he snatched it up quickly. He wasn't sure if Derek could hear it, but he didn't want to disturb him... nor did he want to hear an order from his precept telling him to call for his own rescue. He could hear Derek's voice, "Nick... you will do as I say. Call for help and get yourself out of here... immediately." 

"Nick?" Alex paused, waiting to hear her friend's voice. 

"What's the news?" he asked, hoping the researcher had come up with something to help him, or at least to give him "an edge". 

"I've found out about the time slip experiments. I spoke to a friend in London House... easier than going to the Ruling Precept and being told the information was for 'Council Eyes Only'." She hesitated, wishing that what she had to say would comfort Nick... or herself. "Those tests were abandoned not because they didn't produce any results, but because they were considered too risky. One of the test subjects, a strong psychic... she disappeared. They may have lost her in London in the 1880s. No one's really sure what happened." 

"You think Derek knew that?" he asked quietly as he watched the older man shiver in his sleep. 

"No, I'm sure he didn't.... At least, I don't think he did... but with Derek you never know. Anyway... the Council hit the panic button," she explained. "They didn't want to risk anyone carrying on the experiments on their own, so they disbanded the team, downplayed the whole episode, and locked their little secret up nice and tight." 

"OK... when do I get the 'good news'?" asked Nick as his spirits sank. 

"Oh... I wish," she sighed. Her voice told Nick everything he didn't want to hear. "I found out a lot about your miners... and Ghost Gulch... from the old newspapers. **_The California Star _**of April 20th, 1850 had a story of twelve miners being hanged for murder." She paused as she brought up the correct screen on her monitor. "They were hanged in threes in what was then called Dry Diggings. After that, the place was called Hangtown... until the citizenry decided they no longer cared to have that sort of reputation and rechristened it Placerville. 

"We went through there," Nick murmured. "Whose murder?" he asked desperately. 

"Here's where it all starts to dovetail... the papers with your father's journal, which had a little surprise in it. 

"Tell me," Nick demanded through a burst of static. He pushed himself to his feet and wandered about the room to find a "quieter" spot. 

Alex waited for the noise to clear, then explained, "Your dad had maps, details of the area, routes marked according to their degree of difficulty, supply caches, water holes... everything you'd expect from a logical military mind... and a photocopy of a page from Evan Rayne's journal. 

"He had probably photocopied Evan's journal because the page has a map on it that shows local landmarks... like a stand of cedar trees, Tagualames Gap, the mine... called 'the Glory Hole', some Indian petroglyphs, a spring, and so forth. But, it also has this entry from March 1850: 

_Ghost Gulch~~~ _

This place possesses an ancient essence - the spirits of inhabitants long since gone. However, it is not that which floods me with uncertainty. I also sense the presence of evil, but it is mortal evil - human depravity that is nigh unto soulessness. 

Although I have discovered no trace of the purchased supplies, I did find a coat button that I know was from my teamster's coat. It was in what the miners of this place call their jail, but in reality is their store house and powder magazine in better times. I know the button was from Juan Delgado's coat. It was part of a shipment we had in from Boston last year. The buttons were of a distinctive cast metal design - quite unique in California. 

I fear for Juan. He was one whose loyalty I could never doubt. Since I fear for him, I must also fear for myself. Despite the snows, I must escape this place. I shall fetch help and supplies, but we shall not return unarmed. 

"I haven't had time to look for the actual journals, but, according to _the Star_, the miners were executed for the murder of a Mr. Delgado, wagon master for the Rayne and Sloan Company of Sausalito, and...." Alex paused to collect her thoughts. How to tell Nick what neither of them wanted to hear? ...and...," she continued, "for the lynching of an 'unknown' gentleman, whom they claimed was Evan Rayne. His body was never found, but they figured one of the miners, Kitson, buried it somewhere. He evidently handled the medical and undertaking duties. 

"Another of the miners... an Amos Tucker... testified against them in court, but it didn't do him any good. He was the last to hang." 

"God, that's not what I to hear," Nick whispered quietly, casting an anxious glance in Derek's direction, 'Still sleeping,' he noted with relief. 

"Like his descendant, Evan Rayne was evidently a man of strong principles," Alex commented. "He insisted that the miners be tried, even though, at that time, the life of Mexicans or Native Americans, counted for very little." She paused, bit her upper lip, using the physical pain to subdue her emotional anguish. "The hanging of the mysterious 'gentleman' convinced the authorities that they had to proceed." 

"OK... well, I guess it's up to me to make sure this 'gentleman' makes it back home," Nick said. "You're sure they never found a body? You checked all the way forward?" 

"No... no body ever turned up that I could find. Unfortunately, that's the only bit of good news I've got. Kitson denied it all, but the judge called him a 'lunatic fit only to be sent to Hell'," Alex replied. She hesitated for a second, then pled, "There is a chance, isn't there? Please, say yes, Nick." 

"Course there is. Our precept's one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Thank God! I've got to remind Derek of that.... And no body found... that's got to be good news for 'our side'. I've got to go," Nick added abruptly. "I don't want to completely use up the battery." 

"Wait! I've talked to Amanda Drake in LA. She's sending her security man, Mark Taylor... remember him... ex-LAPD... to fly Rachel and me over. I avoided giving her details... just that you guys were snowed in and needed help urgently. It's past 11:00, but we should be there within a few hours." 

"OK... honey... but wait for my call. Don't enter this area until you hear from me... it's about a three miles radius, I think. Just a hunch... plot Evan Rayne's landmarks. We can't risk a disruption of whatever this 'thing' is... the window could close between Derek and me. I'll call and I promise we'll both be here to meet you." 

Nick switched off his phone and sat down beside his sleeping friend. He stretched out his hand to brush back an unruly curl from Derek's forehead. He shook his head... phantom hand... phantom hair. "We're going to keep that promise. Right, Dr. Rayne?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 21**

Time passed as Nick fought sleep. His eyes roamed around the dim interior... everything solid... everything so very normal. He then looked down beside him. Swathed in a dingy quilt lay the faint and ghostly figure of his precept, and his friend. 

Derek's breathing seemed normal, if a little slow. When he had slipped into a deep sleep a couple of hours ago Nick had, at first, been anxious that he was slipping back into hypothermic shock. Then he had been disappointed that he wasn't. 

"If you'd slipped into a coma, maybe I'd have got you back. This time I wouldn't have let go." Nick spoke quietly to the sleeping man. He glanced at his watch and sighed... 5:10 a.m. Exactly two days ago they had left the Legacy House. 

"Why doesn't that damned 'Sight' of yours warn you about things like this!" He addressed another question to the sleeping form, not expecting an answer. 

"I don't know," Derek replied quietly as he glanced up into the younger man's worried face. "It's not quite the 'gift' those who haven't got it might imagine. It's a little like reading the last page of a novel, you sometimes see how things might end, but not how the conclusion was reached. It's never a sure thing... it's like trying to grasp a handful of water." 

"Tell me about it," Nick asked. "You never have." 

"It's... oh... what's a good analogy?" Derek asked himself. "It's like watching fifteen to thirty seconds of an old silent film, but without the subtitles. Sometimes I see the whole thing... sometimes a succession of pieces that seem without rhyme or reason.... It's up to me to interpret them... to piece them together and make sense of it. Sometimes I feel it with absolute certainty... and the outcome is like watching an instant replay. Other times I feel nothing but confusion. 

"They've tried to test it... to quantify it, but they never really will. It's emotionally based... and the more they probe, the more they inhibit the emotions that produce the phenomenon. 

"It's not called the 'sixth sense' for no reason... it is like a sense, but as the other senses can be mislead and even used by the Darkside, so can the 'Sight'. I've tried all my life to separate it from my own imagination... from my dreams... to learn to manipulate it... to give order to the chaos. Sometimes I can... sometimes I can't. The most important things come of their own will... and often the supremely important things I never have a hint of at all. 

"What time is it?" Derek asked as stretched out his aching legs. He tried to ignore the agonising waves of protest that flowed up his spine. "God," he groaned "my back... every vertebrae feels out of place. I feel as old and decrepit as this building is in our own time." 

"It's just past five," Nick replied. "How do you really feel? Tell the truth... please. Could you try and get out?" 

Knowing the futility of it, Derek shook his head. Still, he struggled to rise. Leaning his hands against the wall, he edged his way up and managed to stand. But, unable yet to support his weight, his legs collapsed beneath him. "I guess not," he said. 

Nick leapt to his feet to try to cushion the older man's fall, but the wraith-like figure passed through his arms. "Dammit, are you OK?" Nick whirled round to kick angrily at the wall. His frustration was reaching boiling point. 

"Nick, take it easy! You won't be any good to me or yourself if you break a foot," said Derek, watching the younger man limp round the room in a fury. "Remember... I may come back to you... so don't you give up." 

Derek's mind wandered back to the time. "Maybe an hour or so before dawn? I wonder... when Evan was here... if he sensed anything from these men. He did have the 'Sight'." Derek tried to play mind games... let the brain work on a problem to divert itself from its imminent reunion with death. "Maybe his recent presence contributed in some way to my slipping through." 

Nick couldn't tell his friend that Evan Rayne had, indeed, sensed something from the place and its inhabitants. "Damn Evan. It's you we need to worry about," Nick snapped back harshly, then regretted his tone. "You said you sensed something 'evil' from these guys, well Kitson is way out there, the others... I can't figure. They're sacrificing their lives to this gold. They could've made it out of here if they'd left a few weeks back... even a few days back. Why didn't they?" 

Derek chewed his bottom lip as he reflected on Nick's question. "They're obsessed, something beyond a desire for wealth. The are driven by something... I'm not sure what. Evil can take so many forms... it preys upon and enhances mortal weaknesses and desires. Then each paranoia feeds another, until you have, in a sense, a mass hysteria of evil." 

Derek shivered and drew the quilt tightly about him. "The hour just before dawn always seems to be the coldest... and the blackest. Nick... if you don't get me back... or if I choose 'the light' this time, I know that I'll leave the House in good hands. You and Rachel and Alex... you're a good team... the best... and Kat... nurture Kat. She's special, and she's vulnerable... Rachel doesn't understand. All is in order. My attorney has letters for you all that say things I've never been able to express...." 

"Don't talk like that, dammit! I'll get you back, I swear," Nick replied brusquely, trying and failing to hide his emotions. 

Derek smiled. "I know that no one will try harder," he replied affectionately. "It's funny... I thought I'd know when I was going to die... that it was preordained, and pieces would fall into place, so I'd see it coming and be able to prepare myself. In a way, I'm always prepared. Everything is always in order.... But being lynched in 1850 by insane gold miners was certainly not one of the options I foresaw." 

"That's because you're not going to die," replied Nick, forcing himself to sound optimistic. He too found his thoughts contemplating the immediate future. He would have to be ready... would he recognise the moment... would it work? 

"Derek... it's gonna hurt... the rope... choking." He looked into the older man's face, wondering if he was preparing himself mentally for the ordeal to come. "Concentrate on getting through it, and know I'll be waiting. God, what if it breaks your neck? If it does, do you still want me to try?" 

"I leave that to you, my friend. 

"I wonder if my whole life will flash before me. It should distract me from the 'unpleasantness' of dying." He wondered, would he see 'the light' again and feel compelled to enter it? If he did, none of Nick's efforts to bring him back would succeed. But, would he find rest there? Peace? 

Derek closed his eyes, contemplating the pleasant prospect of peace. Suddenly he felt waves of hostility and hatred invading his thoughts. They were growing... coming nearer. 

"They're coming, Nick. A little early, I think. Perhaps I should've lent them my watch." 

"God, Derek," the younger man choked. He reached forward to rest his hands on his friend's shoulders... hands that would not make contact... but still he needed to make the gesture. "I'll be with you. I promise." 

Derek nodded. The sounds of the bolt drawing and the door opening seemed the loudest thing he'd ever heard; they reverberated in his mind. He too reached out to touch his friend. "Goodbye," he silently mouthed. 

"Evan Rayne!" Taffy strode forward, fury pent up inside the small bent form. 

"There's no sign of that 'Nancy-boy' of yours. No sign of our goods." He looked around at the other miners, clustered in the doorway of the jail. "Looks like you've been betrayed, just like us. 

"Well boys... another vote. The last one... you're the jury here. Does your verdict stand? Are we to hang him?" 

"Aye! Yes! Kill the bastard!" The strong chorus of affirmation swept through the crowd as a forest of hands rose in judgement. 

"And is that the verdict of you all?" Taffy asked looking ferociously in Tucker's direction. 

Tucker looked at the faces before him... he knew he should vote no... but he knew himself to be a coward. He couldn't face the hostility of these men. He could argue it was for the sake of his wife, his children, but deep down, inside himself, he knew he didn't have the courage to stand against the others. 

"Yes," he said quietly raising his hand, trying to avoid seeing Kitson's gloating expression. 

Taffy nodded and turned back to face their prisoner. "Evan Rayne, you heard the verdict.... Hanging it is.... God help you. You have cheated us, lied to us, stole from us, and maybe even killed us. You'll find no forgiveness here." 

"Ha!" Kitson laughed in glee. "God help him! When it be to hell he's bound fer." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 22**

Still weak and with a pale face, Derek rose clumsily to his feet. He clung to the wall for support. It was sheer "cusedness" and pride that had taken him this far... he was not going to collapse in front of these bastards. He would not show weakness, which they might attribute to fear. Now that he was up, how would he ever manage his last walk? 

He need not have worried. The throng of miners surged forward, seeming to function as one being, guided by a compulsive herd instinct. Hands grabbed the precept, pulled him forward... he was borne up by the crowd of angry men. He couldn't have fallen had he tried. 

They dragged Derek from the jail and hustled him toward a skeletal tree, which stood stark and bare in pre-dawn twilight. A single torch cast grotesque shadows across the white snow. 

Nick stayed close, even at times coexisting in the same space with these men, but not in the same time. There was no physical sensation to overlapping another's body, but the idea and image of it was unnerving. Rather than force his mind to deal with the anomaly, the former SEAL followed behind, hoping his friend would sense his presence and draw comfort from it. 

When they reached their goal, there was a hesitation. For a moment their certainty faltered, until Kitson pushed forward. He grabbed Derek's arms, yanked them behind his back, and once more bound his wrists. He then leaned forward to whisper through the fog of his foul breath, "Dance yer jig, then yer all mine... well maybe me and the Devil will share... he gets yer soul and I gets yer meat." 

Jake hurled the rope over a strong, overhanging branch, and tied it off at the trunk, then rolled a small cart forward beneath the limb. 

"Get him up on this here," ordered Kitson. 

Derek tried not to hear the hubbub of conversations shouted between the men. He saw cruelty in their faces... the cruelty that delights and satiates its hunger by inflicting pain on others. 

"How long do ye think he'll last?" Jake asked. 

"Not long... he's soft," another replied. 

"Aye... but he ain't got no weight on 'im to pull 'im down quick like," Jake contended. "How 'bout we do us a little wagerin'?... Each pick a time... the one that hits closest... gets the pot. Taffy holds the bets." 

There were shouts of raucous laughter and heated argument as they each choose their 'time'. Nick watched them with unconcealed loathing. He knew what fate awaited each of these men, but could feel no pity for any of them. Not even Tucker, skulking on the edge of the crowd. "Gutless bastard could have tried to do something," Nick said to himself. 

Derek was lifted onto the back of the ramshackle cart. Taffy and Kitson clambered up beside him and hauled him roughly to his feet. Taffy stretched open the noose and looped it around the precept's neck. Tightening it, he asked, "Will you be wanting to say anything?" 

Kitson scowled, but before he could speak, Taffy held up his hand to stop him. "It's his right, if he's wanting to say something. Maybe make his peace with the Almighty." 

Derek locked his shaking knees and pulled himself to his full height. He looked down at the sea of hostile faces, all eager to see the show, wanting to watch another human being suffer pain, humilation and death. Why, he wondered. He'd seen it often enough... what frailty in the human heart led normal people down this path? "You'll be hanging an innocent man," he said firmly. "You're the ones who will have to make your peace! May God have mercy on your souls." 

Closing his eyes for a second, he collected himself, then looked around the crowd. Where's Nick, he wondered. He caught sight of the spectral figure, standing close against the tree truck. Their eyes met. A crooked, half-smile crossed Derek's lips as they exchanged an understanding nod. 

"Let's get this over with," Derek said with quiet dignity. He concentrated... focused his thoughts on Nick. He repeated in his mind, "Focus on Nick. When it happens, don't enter 'the light'. Wait for Nick." 

As he watched the two miners jump to the ground, he was drawn to the vicious eyes fastened on his face. Not what I want for my last sight, he thought. Instead he turned his gaze toward the snowy ridges of the High Sierras. The sun's golden light outlined the dark peaks with a gentle, warm halo. He would watch the sunrise... his last, he wondered. 

The angry noise from the miners was hushed for a moment. They watched his face with growing anticipation. Kitson licked his lips, smiled, and winked at Derek. The precept felt it and returned a gaze harder than ice. He nodded, then spoke directly to the Tennessean. "I have a friend in Hell... if you and I don't meet there... you and he surely will. I pity you." He was pleased to see Kitson's eyes flicker. 

"On my count, boys," Taffy shouted as two groups took their places on either side of the cart. "On three.... Push!.... one... two... three!" 

Derek felt the cart move easily beneath him. At the last second he braced himself for the pain. "God, please help me!" he prayed silently. 

Nick saw his friend fall. As he watched him drop, Derek's body seemed to move in slow motion. The rope bit. His body jerked. The noose tightened. "Please don't let his neck break," he begged as he rushed forward. 

Knowing it would do no good in their separate times, the former SEAL, nevertheless, encircled his arms around Derek's legs. He would be ready when Derek came back to 1999. "I've got you," he shouted to his precept. 

Derek's eyes flew open. His long legs kicked as if treading water. Panic and pain fought for supremacy in his mind. Oh, God!... the agony... his neck... the rope crushing... constricting... his lungs screaming for air. Noise... screaming. Was he screaming? No... there was no breath to scream. 

"Ha! Dancin' a jig, ain't he?" 

Derek saw the sun, flying like a comet across the sky. Then a thousand shooting stars exploded through a black velvet night... moons... hundreds of moons... raced across the heavens. Time rushing headlong into the future. No time now... he was alive... and soon he wouldn't be. A dark, cosmic silence enveloped him, wrapped him gently in its folds. He sank gratefully into its welcoming oblivion. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 23 **

Looking up into Derek's face, Nick saw the anguish written there. As the precept struggled to breathe his hazel eyes grew wide with fear. The rope bit tighter into his throat... constricting, squeezing the life from him with agonizing slowness. Thrashing wildly, his body struggled reflexively to escape. 

The ex-SEAL called to his friend, "Derek! It'll soon be over. I'm here!" But he was unsure whether the older man had heard him. How much longer would this torment continue? "Please, God, make it end," begged Nick, while cursing his own helplessness. "I'm here. I'll get you back. I promise," he cried again, praying that his friend understood. 

Thankfully, Derek at last slipped into unconsciousness. The struggle ceased. His muscles relaxed and released their hold on life. Still he had no form nor substance... there was nothing for Nick to grab hold of... to fight for. 

With his arms encircling the ghostly form, Nick waited for the right moment... waited for Derek to die. "God! When is it going to happen?" he screamed. 

"Come on, Derek!" he cried. His voice held an uncharacteristic note of panic as he concentrated his entire mind on the limp, wraithlike form in his arms. "What if this doesn't work? What if he dies and stays in 1850?" 

Suddenly Nick noticed how quiet it had become. He craned his neck to glance around at the faces of the miners. A few moments ago they had been a mad, baying crowd, laughing at their obscene wager, shouting in disappointment as they missed their 'time'. Now their expressions were strange as they stared at Derek in bewilderment. What can they see that I can't? Nick wondered. 

The silence was oppressive... nothing moved... the only sound Nick could hear was his own ragged breathing and the creaking of the branch above... the only thing moving was the fog of his own breath and Derek's swaying body. 

This was it! He knew this was it. Nick closed his arms more tightly around Derek's legs. He had him... he was back. He felt the solidity and weight of a real human body. "Come on, Boyle... move it!" He struggled to take the larger man's weight, to reduce the strain on his neck and, at the same time, cut the rope from the tree. His knife's blade slashed at the thick cord, which took precious seconds to break its hold. All of Derek's weight was suddenly released. Already off balance, Nick fell with the precept landing heavily on top of him. 

Trying to support Derek's neck, he hurried to roll his friend onto his back. "Please don't let it be broken," he prayed. For a split second, Nick was in an agony of indecision... if Derek's neck was broken, should he fight to revive his friend? If he succeeded, he could be dooming him to the life of paralysis... in a wheel chair... on a respirator. Would Derek want that? He shook his head... damn the consequences... he had to try. 

"Doesn't seem broken," he sighed with relief. "OK... Derek... stay with me. Can you hear me? Don't go into the light!" 

Nick began his resuscitation attempt. Hands one atop the other, the heel just below the breastbone. "One, two, three, four, five swift, strong pushes. Then up to the precept's face. Tilt the head back... open the airway... three strong breaths. Nick watched Derek's chest rise as he blew air into the lungs. 

"Come on!... Come back... dammit!" the younger man muttered as he returned to the chest... five more hard pushes... three more strong breaths. Nick kept up his desperate rhythm for three minutes... no sign of recovery... no faint pulse beneath his questing fingers. 

"Derek... don't go! Can you hear me? If you see 'the light,' don't go. There's too much for you to do here. We all still need you. I'm not ready yet. I still need you," Nick begged as he pushed again against his friend's heart. "Beat, you bastard! Beat!" 

Nick continued his desperate routine. Each failure to detect a pulse drove him to another frantic effort. He looked at his watch... five minutes. How long before there was brain damage? "Derek! Please, don't make me decide. I can't give up. I won't give up." 

* * * 

Derek looked back at his friend kneeing in the snow, pumping again and again on a prostrate body... his body. The connection was still strong enough that he could feel each firm press... each warm breath into his lungs. He felt sorry... not for himself, but for Nick's anguish. Slowly, he turned toward the warm, golden light that had merged with the sunrise. 

"Don't quit on me now, boy!" he heard Nick scream. Derek smiled... Nick would never master his father's tone. "Sloan always said you were a quitter," his colleague shouted. Again he smiled... those emotional buttons had long since been used up and worn out. 

"It's time," Derek murmured. "Time to go... at last." 

"It is not time," said a golden, tenor voice. 

There, in the brightest point of light, stood a golden figure. His hands rested upon a flaming sword. "It is not time to go until we give you leave to go, precept. Your mission is unfulfilled... your destiny still lies open. The Powers of Light and the Powers of Darkness have not finished with you." 

"Please," Derek begged. "I can't go on. I'm too tired... please... let me come." 

"No!" The light rang with the sound of a thousand cathedral bells. "Someone you hold dear once wisely reminded you to 'gird yourself properly for battle.' You would do well to listen and remember who and what you are, Derek Rayne." 

Abruptly, Derek felt himself sucked backward and downward like a spider down a drain. Warm air filled his lungs. His chest ached from the pressure of strong hands. 

* * * 

"Please, Derek," Nick wept as he stroked his friend's hair. "Don't do this. You promised you'd try." Tears filled his eyes. He gazed around the canyon at the sparkling world, whose whiteness was being tinged with the vibrancy of sunrise. He dragged in a deep, cold breath. It was over. This was the morning Derek would never see. "Why, God?" he screamed. 

In the distance he heard a low rumble... his echo had set off the small avalanche he had feared. What matter now? His friend... his brother... was dead. 

Suddenly, as the rumble faded into an overwhelming silence, he heard a soft intake of breath. In panic, his cold, numb fingers sought the pulse. Was it really there? Yes... he felt it... a slight, quivering, uncertain beat. Then another and another and another... each stronger, each more certain. "Derek? Oh, thank God!" Nick's emotions were raw, his voice ragged with relief. "Come on... wake up." 

He remembered the bound hands, and cut them free, cursing silently at the rope's deep marks and Kitson's bloody gashes. Sinking back into the snow to rest Derek's head in his lap, Nick kept his fingers on the pulse... it reassured him... comforted him. "Derek," he called softly. "Can you hear me? Wake up, Derek. It's all over. Help's on the way." 

Nick pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket and frantically pressed the buttons. "Come on, Alex, be close...." He heard crackling and humming. "Dammit, come on!" he snapped impatiently. Pressing the buttons again, he was relieved when the connection was made. 

"Alex?... Can you hear me?" he called anxiously. 

"Nick... yes.... We're only a few miles away," she replied, almost afraid to ask the question she most wanted answered. "Is it safe to come in?" 

"Come quick... I... we need a doctor!" Nick replied. "He's with me, and alive," he hastily added to reassure his friends. "I'm worried.... I can't wake him up. Gotta go... gotta move him inside!" 

"Nick!" Rachel's voice screamed over the phone. "Be careful! You shouldn't move him if he's injured." 

"Hell... I know that!" Nick snapped. "But I've got to get him out of this snow." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 24 **

Nick debated how best to lift his precept's dead weight. "Not as if you're that heavy, but those damn legs go on for ever," he muttered. 

Nick watched his friend, now breathing regularly. His heartbeat had returned to a slow, steady rhythm. His face wore the peaceful, untroubled look that only dreamless sleep can bestow. "Why won't you wake up?" he asked with concern. 

Nick shivered violently. "Christ! It's cold... is that it? We'll go sit by the stove... should be nice and hot in there by now... just like you wanted." 

Suddenly a familiar sound shattered the canyon's unearthly quiet. The thump, thump of chopper blades, then the steady beating noise of its engine instilled hope. "Thank God!" For the first time in a very long time Nick allowed himself to relax... a little. "They're here, Derek... Alex and Rachel... they're here." 

He watched the helicopter circle the site. The pilot was obviously searching for a spot, trying to decide if he could set down close to them. The downwash from the blades sent snow flying in all directions. Nick bent over Derek to covering the precept's body with his own. The chopper rose and wheeled away, looking for a safer landing site. "Make it soon," he whispered. 

"OK," Nick muttered. He hunkered down beside his friend, pulled his arm up, manoeuvred the still form until the precept's body was laid across his shoulders with an arm and a leg draped in front... a 'dead man's' lift, he suddenly recalled his dad saying. "Steady." Nick took a couple of deep breaths, then rose. 

He hurried awkwardly to the jail, kicked open the door, and laid his burden carefully down beside the stove. "Whew!" he exclaimed. The heat had built up in the small room. "You wanted hot. You got hot!" 

He arranged his friend in a comfortable position, with his head pillowed on the sleeping bag and covered him with his leather jacket. "Damn... wish we had some coffee. Wonder if Alex will bring some?" Nick kept up his inane chatter hoping that it would give Derek comfort... wherever his mind was at this moment... to know that things were returning to normal. "Ha!" Nick laughed aloud at the thought, "What the hell's normal about our life!" 

"Nick! Nick!" He heard the anxious calls and rushed to the door. He spotted Alex and Rachel struggling through the deep snow. Mark Taylor followed a few steps behind, pulling a rescue sled. 

Alex broke into an uncoordinated run. Rachel hurried to keep up. Both women were bundled in bright red ski suits, parkas, and heavy boots that were not designed for running. 

Alex reached him first. Relieved, she threw her arms around Nick... one of her guys was here, but where was the other? "Is he OK?" she asked, tightly hugging the smaller man. Her eyes begged for good news. 

"He's inside... his breathing's OK... heart beat's regular," Nick replied. 

Rachel joined the two of them. "But...," she asked reading the concern in the younger man's face, and in his voice. 

"I can't get him to wake up, Rachel. What if I didn't get him back quick enough? What if there's brain damage?" All his fears flooded out. 

Rachel switched on her "doctor" persona. "Come on... let's take a look the patient before we panic." As she hurried into the jail, the wall of heat hit her. "My God... you've built a sauna!" She exclaimed, dragging off her gloves and coat she hurried over to Derek. 

"Mark... get me med-kit from the sled," she said as she checked Derek's pupils. They reacted normally, but it was strange to see those hazel eyes, normally so full of spirit and challenge, now staring sightlessly back at her. 

Carefully she examined his neck. She winced at the scarlet wheals and rope burns. He would have severe bruising... maybe damage to the esophagus and larynx. "He won't be talking much for a while. Alex, I need the neck brace," she said over her shoulder. 

"Check his arms, Rachel," Nick said in a worried tone, "Christ! Hanging was too good for that bastard." 

"What happened here?" Rachel asked as unwrapped the bloodied silk to examine the rows of deep slashes on Derek's forearms. "Some of these will need stitches." She began to clean the wounds and reached inside her bag for antibiotic cream. 

"Kitson, one of the miners, had Derek hogtied in here, using him as his own private McDonald's. He cut him, then drank the blood," explained Nick, disgusted by the memories of the attacks, and by his own helplessness to prevent them. 

"Oh, God, no!" Alex exclaimed. She covered her face with her hand for a few moments to hide the sight of the wounds. "He wasn't a vampire?" she asked in a tone suddenly filled with fear. Dreadful memories surfaced. As she fought to subdue them, the thought of Derek tainted with the curse of vampirism terrified her. 

"Derek said not," Nick hurriedly reassured her. "Just a sick 'wannabe' bastard." 

Rachel finished dressing the wounds and placed the soft, foam collar around his neck to protect it from further damage. "Oh, Derek," she murmured under her breath, "when are you going to stop? Enough is enough... you can't keep doing this to your body." She laid her hand on his forehead, then allowed her fingers to drift down the still face. "Maybe if you let someone else take up the burden, you could have a chance at a real life.... All those secrets... all that knowledge you have tucked away in your brain is a thousand times more valuable than any battle you can fight." 

Her arm around Nick, Alex stood watching Rachel. Was she supporting him, or he her, she wondered. Either way the reassurance for each of them was knowing that the other was there. 

She watched Derek's chest rise and fall... his breathing seemed normal. He looked... she smiled... with the lines smoothed away, he looked so innocent, like a little boy. 

Nick watched Rachel carefully for any hint... any sign that he had missed something... neglected to take some vital course of action. 

"We need to get him to a hospital to check him out properly," said Rachel as she pushed herself to her feet. "His pupils are reacting normally... his vitals are strong... stronger than I expected, in fact." 

"Then why won't he wake up?" Nick asked, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet and timid. 

"Could be any number of reasons... either of a physical or psychological nature. Maybe his mind is telling his body enough is enough." She saw the worried look on Nick's face and gave his arm a consoling pat. "Hey... you did good!" she reassured him. "I'm sure he's going to be fine. He's just sleeping in... jet lag caught up." The friend was speaking now, not the doctor. 

"Now let me look at those scratches. How did you get them?" Rachel asked, carefully examining the angry red marks that slashed Nick's face and neck. 

"They're nothing," Nick said dismissively. 

"Hey, who's the doctor here?" Rachel asked, dabbing the wounds with antiseptic. "Sorry... this is going to smart a little. Now... how did you get them?" 

"I had a run in with a wolf," Nick explained. "He was looking for Little Red Riding Hood." He grinned. "He should've seen you two in those outfits." 

"Nick," Rachel said angrily, "as soon as we get home, you'll need to get rabies shots. They aren't pleasant... downright nasty, in fact... but rabies is no joking matter." 

Duly chastised, Nick nodded meekly. "I know. I'm worried about Derek. He's the only one on my mind at the moment. I'll get the shots, when I know he's OK." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter 25**

"Nick...." 

All turned to the sound of a faint croak. Derek was struggling to sit up. He had managed to get onto his elbows, but unable to get further, he fought to summon strength from an empty reservoir. 

In the flash of an instant, Nick was kneeling at his side. He slipped his arm behind the precept to help him to sit up. As Derek looked into the face of his young friend, a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. "So... I'm... a quitter? No way... to address your precept." His voice was husky... strained and rough... but to his friends it had never sounded sweeter. 

Nick managed a real grin. Suddenly the cares of the world dropped from his shoulders. "You overslept again?" he teased. 

Rachel followed the exchange in puzzlement. "How do you feel? Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?" she asked. She gripped Derek's wrist as her finger found his pulse. 

"Oohhhhh... Gott," the older man groaned hoarsely. "Where not?" 

His weak humour was rewarded by a warm smile from the blonde. "You really will have to start taking it easy... you know that... don't you? You aren't getting any younger. You can't expect your body to keep soaking up this level of punishment. So... maybe this time you'll follow doctor's orders and take a nice long rest... if not for yourself, then for the sake of a certain aging, blond physician." 

This drew a weary smile from the precept. "Maybe... this time," he rasped. 

Alex plopped herself cheerfully down beside her mentor. She clasped his large hand in her two smaller ones. He felt her unguarded devotion flow like waves through her fingers into his body... and he felt something more.... What?... a feeling of confidence... certainty? He was too tired to sort it out. 

"No maybe about it," Alex said in mock fury. "Someone will have to take you in hand, Derek Rayne." She smiled as his eyebrow rose quizically. "I know," she responded to the unspoken quip, "that's not the way to talk to my precept." 

"OK... let's get you to a hospital and checked out properly," Rachel interrupted decisively as she closed her medical kit. 

His voice croaking, Derek responded equally decisively. "No!.... I'm fine... need sleep... no 'beep beeps'... no 'Dr. Jones to Urology'. I want my bed... in my room... my house... on my island... _comprende_?" he whispered through a sleepy half-smile. "Nick... I rely on you to ward off these mother hens." 

"Derek... please...." Rachel worried at the vehemence of Derek's protest, but she sensed she was going to lose this one. "We need to make sure everything is all right... just run some tests... do a brain scan. X-ray your neck." 

"No," he sighed heavily. "I'm tired, doctor... too damned tired to have this argument. My brain and I are fine. Get this damn thing off my neck. No hospital. My decision. I expect all of you... to respect it... to respect me. 

"Now... please, take me home." He felt himself fading towards a longed for sleep. "Nick?" He caught the younger man's eye and received an confirming nod. 

Rachel rose in frustration. "If ever a man needed a brain scan!" she snapped. "OK... Nick... Mark... let's get our self-appointed martyr home, but the collar stays on... and that's my decision." 

*** 

**_San Francisco Legacy House... Outside Derek's Bedroom_**

"So, how's the patient?" Nick asked quietly. "Not still sleeping?" 

Rachel was in no mood for light-hearted remarks. "Yes... he's still sleeping. He's been 'still sleeping', more or less solidly, for over forty-eight hours now. I've got an IV drip set up to replenish his fluids. He got snappy at me for insisting on that!" 

Nick nodded, sympathetically. "But he's OK? I mean this sleeping... it's natural sleep, isn't it? Nothing wrong?" 

"As far as I can tell it's natural sleep. He won't let me make use of all my skills... my knowledge as a doctor... what science has to offer. He needs to be checked out in a hospital," she replied irritably. "God knows what's happened in that thick skull... or could be happening!" 

Nick responded thoughtfully, "I think he's relying on the person, rather than putting his trust in machines. Is Alex still with him?" Nick asked, concerned for his colleague. "If she's not careful, you'll end up with two patients." 

Rachel nodded. "She's behaving strangely... like a mother who's lost a child, and feels compelled to constantly monitor her other children... to make sure they're OK." Rachel winced at her own analogy... it had struck too close to home. 

The door to Derek's bedroom opened and Alex came out, yawning tiredly, but smiling. "He woke up a little bit ago. Well, half woke.... He padded his way into the bathroom, then out. Almost couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to find the bed again. Never saw me... but your IV is out and the neck brace is off," she told the doctor. 

"Shit," Rachel said in exasperation. "I'll take a paranoid schizophrenic over a precept any day. God only knows what psychiatric classification he'd fall under." 

"You look all in," Nick told Alex. "Go get some rest." 

"I don't want to leave him alone." Running her hand through her unkempt lion's mane, Alex wished she could convey to the others why she felt the compulsion to stay. She sensed a dark cloud hovering over Derek... hovering over his House. It frightened her that it was still there, despite the events of the past days. She sensed no immediate threat, but that didn't ease her fears for the future. 

"I know.... I'll sit with him for a while." Nick patted her back gently. "Go to bed. He's going to be OK, Alex... really." 

Alex looked inquiringly at Rachel. "Well... yeah." The blonde shrugged elegantly, and smiled. "Even without my machines, I can see he's looking better. Sometimes Mother Nature, and the patient do know what's best. But don't you dare tell Derek I said that, or we'll never win," she said with a grin. 

*** 

**_Derek's Room... 2 hours later_**

Nick lounged in a chair by Derek's bedside, trying to ignore the ache in his stomach, where he had received his rabies shots. Five-inch-long needles directly into his abdomen were beyond his idea of nasty. Already his nerve endings were burning as the serum sought to destroy anything it recognized as alien. 

"As if a little rabid raving would have been noticed in this place," he muttered to himself. 

Uneasily, shifting his position, he watched his sleeping friend. It was a strange experience... watching Derek sleep... in his inner sanctum. It almost seemed an intrusion, but he had promised Alex. He smiled to himself. "Fess up, Boyle, you'd have been in here... making sure he was OK... with or without a promise to Alex. 

"Bet fifteen or twenty years ago Dad would've been in here, keeping guard. Christ, I'm turning into my Dad," he murmured. In his mind, he addressed the sleeping man, "I remember you told me once that I'd inherited my Dad's best qualities. I hope I can stick to them and leave the others alone!" Nick surprised himself... for the first time in a very long time, he could admit that there were 'qualities' to admire in his father. "Why couldn't he show them to me in person, instead of me having to learn about them second hand through you? 

"If Dad wasn't available, I bet Sloan would've kept watch. What is it about you that brings out the best in others? You're an awkward, opinionated, secretive, pompous bastard," Nick snorted inelegantly, "and that's your good side. 

"I guess we all recognise that beneath all those 'lovable' quirks a good, decent, brave man exists. The world would be a poorer place without you." Nick looked up to see a pair of hazel eyes regarding him quizically... a flush swept his cheeks. 

"Who's a pompous bastard?" Derek whispered as a faint smile flickered across his lips. 

Nick decided to ignore the question. "How do you feel?" he asked. "You look pretty good for someone hanged a hundred and fifty years ago." 

"It wasn't my time, Nick," Derek croaked. "What does it say in _Ecclesiastes_? 'To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.' 

Sleep tugged at him again, but he roused himself. "Nick...," he weakly murmured. "I feel so strange. Please... get Rachel... now...." Suddenly, his eyes rolled back and he drifted off. 

"Derek?" Nick said firmly. "Derek! Are you all right?" he asked as he shook his precept. His fingers searched for the carotid pulse. "Christ! It feels like an out of synch sledgehammer." He turned and raced toward the door. 

"Rachel!" he screamed as he reached the hall. 

* * * 

"The Medivac chopper's here!" Alex cried breathlessly as she rushed into Derek's bedroom. She paused at the bed's corner to look at her precept. 

Rachel held an oxygen mask over his face, then slipped the elastic strap behind to hold it in place. As she released his head, it lolled to one side, like a broken toy. 

"Oh, God! He's going to be OK, isn't he?" Alex's fears had rapidly overcome all other senses. Her head spun, her eyes blurred, her ears muffled all sound save the faint, laboured breath coming from the figure in the bed. She concentrated on Derek alone. She willed him to recover, to feel her love, and to know that she was there. 

Rachel heard Nick pounding up the stairs. His shouts directed the paramedics to the corridor. She turned to face Alex and, trying to overcome her own fears, she spoke quietly. "I wish I knew, sweetie. Damn him! Why didn't I insist that he go to the hospital? This was gross negligence on my part. Goddammit! I'm the doctor. I should have sedated him and packed him off in a split second." 

She turned back to her patient and laid a hand on his chest. "You can't go yet. Do you hear me? You cannot go!" 

Nick and the EMTs hurried into the room. "I'm Dr. Corrigan," she said. "It's a possible stroke... best guess is a thrombosis," she added, quickly briefing the men on Derek's condition. 

The three friends then gathered at the end of the bed. Nick slipped his arms around the waists of the two women. Watching the medical team in action, they supported each other mentally and physically. 

"A blood clot?" Alex whispered. Her tone carried pure terror. 

"Yes," the doctor replied. "He was tied in a very bad position for a long time... the cold... the lack of circulation. It could have formed in his leg or his lungs or in the carotid artery, because of way the rope was. A partial blockage could account for the sleeping... now, it's maybe broke loose," she whispered, not wanting the paramedics to hear. How were they ever going to explain his injuries to the authorities? The Legacy would have to handle that. 

"Then this isn't from the hanging?" Nick asked with some minor relief. 

"No," Rachel said quietly. "If that was the case, he wouldn't have awakened at all. You got to him in time. This is my fault... my own weak stupidity in allowing him to bulldoze me when I knew better," she confessed. 

All talk ceased as the older of the two paramedics slapped on a blood pressure cuff, placed the stethoscope in his ears, and quickly inflated the device. He listened carefully to the pulse as he allowed the cuff to slowly deflate. "BP's high, pulse strong," he said as ripped open Derek's pyjama top. "Any drugs taken, ma'am?" he shouted at Rachel. 

"Just antibiotics and Tetanus for the cuts on his arms," Rachel replied. 

Adhesive electrodes were attached to Derek's chest. The EMT studied the spikey readout as the paper emerged from the toolbox-like ECG. The other man rapidly checked Derek's eyes with his small penlight. 

"We've gotta ventilate, Sam!" the older man ordered. "ET tube! Then bag him," he said stripping Rachel's oxygen mask off to insert a plastic tube down the precept's throat. "OK... let's get him out of here! Fast!" he shouted. He hastily thrust his paraphernalia back into its case. "Is one of you coming with us?" 

Nick watched the paramedics manhandle Derek onto the stretcher. Worried at the brusqueness with which they handled his friend, he took a step forward. "Hey, guys! Take it easy!" he cautioned. 

Rachel laid a restraining hand on his arm. "They know what they're doing, Nick." 

"To them he's just another emergency call?" Nick replied. "How many have they already handled today? He's more... much more than that. How do we let people know how special he is?" 

She smiled and squeezed his arm. "We know Nick... that's what's important.... We know." 

Unable to trust her voice, Alex nodded. Fear brought pain to her every breath. Was this her premonition? Was this it? Was this the nameless dread she had felt, but failed to "see"? 

"I'll go with him in the chopper," Rachel announced. "You two come as fast as you can... San Francisco General." 

Alex looked as if she was going to dispute Rachel's decision, but thought better of it and nodded. "I'll get my things," she whispered to Nick, as she rushed from the room. 

Nick helped the paramedics manoeuver the stretcher down the stairs and around the tight curve of the landing. In the foyer, he reached out to touch Derek's arm, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, "You're going to be OK.... do you hear? You hang on. We're taking you to the hospital... sorry. But you'll be back home soon... back where you belong. I promise." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Epilogue **

_Legacy Journal of Alex Moreau _

April 1, 1999 - Fri. evening - Stanford Medical Center 

Dear Lord. Somebody finally had the guts to call Derek's condition a "persistent vegetative state" to our faces. It's been a month now. Still no change. They want to keep him here another week, then we can take him home. Rachel's going to move back to the island with Kat. She's already turned Derek's room into a fully equipped hospital room. He'll be madder than a wet hen when he wakes up and sees all that paraphernalia. Ingrid is going to come stay, too. Her Mother Superior has already OK'd it, and received diocese permission. 

Nick's in London being debriefed by the Ruling Council. I thought it was going to take a torpedo to dislodge him from this room. They finally had to threaten to send Legacy security to "escort" him. He calls every 4 hrs. like clockwork, but all I can ever say is "No change." He's adamant that we get Derek home "ASAP". He wanted to take him home the next day. He's sure that Derek has to be back in that room, that it has to do with Derek's mind and the room itself. While he's over there he's going to finagle every angle he can to find out about the time slip experiments. I've been having the computer run searches night and day on the subject, but I keep coming up against "restricted access" or huge sections of pages blacked out. I've been trying to find journals from that era - the mid-70's. Derek wasn't living here yet, so that rules out Arthur Middleton and Maj. Boyle. But I can't find Derek's for the period either, and I found out that everything from 1983-1984 is missing too. That's a surprise. I thought his Legacy Journals would all be neatly in a row. 

God! - how can these words look so tidy and calm. Just the same as if I was writing about the weather or the movie I saw last night or my tennis score. It's like this is all some stupid, horrible April Fool's joke. 

It wasn't a stroke, thank God, but I don't think they have the faintest idea of what's wrong. They've ruled out encephalitis, meningitis, tumor, brain injury, drug reaction, even stuff like diabetic coma. He's off the ventilator, but he's sprouting tubes and wires like one of those Borg things in Star Trek. There are EEG electrodes stuck to his head and tubes going directly into arteries and veins to continuously monitor blood gasses. A tube into his stomach feeds him. Tubes into his chest drain fluid and air from around the lungs so they can expand more easily. These, like the catheter, drain into containers at the foot of the bed. The nurses try to be kind - they try to keep them covered with a sheet so that we can't see them. They keep the volume up on the ECG. I focus my mind totally on those beeps - they mean life. I can't feel his mind at all. He moves occasionally and opened his eyes. But the doctors say it doesn't really mean anything. In fact, because he doesn't blink, they taped his eyes shut to keep them moist. I wish I could see those eyes. I keep hearing the last words I heard him say, "My brain and I are fine.... No hospital. My decision. I expect all of you... to respect it... to respect me." Respect! What a joke! April Fools! 

The worst of it is that they put this thing in his head. Rachel said it's called a subarachnoid screw, or something like that. It's a goddamned bolt that goes straight through his skull to his brain. Supposedly it measures fluid pressure in some hollow cavities in the brain. But it's still a friggin' nail in his head. I pray it's not the first nail in his coffin. Dear God, is this it? Is this really it! The supreme irony of it all is that Derek Rayne, neither dead nor alive, has become one of the undead. No, not even that. The Undead speak. They move among us. They have life - not this awful silence. 

**The End **

Visit 

_Merlynn's Maze_ for Part 2 of_ the Time Chronicles_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Authors' Notes**

The three time slip anecdotes mentioned in Chapter 11 come from a book by Michael Shallis, _On Time: An Investigation into Scientific Knowledge and Human Experience_, (London: Burnett Books Ltd., 1982). Quite an interesting book. Others that might be of interest to those curious about time and its relationship to the paranormal are: Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time_, Rudy Rucker's _The Fourth Dimension: A Guided Tour of the Higher Universes_, and Fred Alan Wolf's _Parallel Universes: the Search for Other Worlds_. 

As for California history... the general atmosphere described in Evan Rayne's journal was based upon contemporary descriptions. The newspaper mentioned, _the California Star_, was first published at Yerba Buena (San Francisco) on Jan. 9, 1847. The mining camp called Dry Diggins' did, indeed, become known as Hangtown, after a series of grisly hangings, and was renamed Placerville in 1854. Today, it is the county seat of El Dorado County. 


End file.
